


Hammer to Fall

by Capzi



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale is Not Oblivious, Experienced Crowley, First Time, Idiots in Love, M/M, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 15:38:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19153963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Capzi/pseuds/Capzi
Summary: “So anyway. I’ve given it a lot of thought and I reckon the two of us ought to fuck now.”





	Hammer to Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Shouts-out to Queen, for making so many damn bangers (and fic titles), to Neil, for being so cool about stuff, and to my work, for inadvertently sponsoring gay porn (again). Should have given me more projects to do, y'all.

* * *

 

     Eleven days gone by. Nothing at all remarkable about the afternoon, if you don’t count the odd shipment of _Hustler_ magazine being sent to the shop by mistake, and Aziraphale didn’t. Such random happenings were still prevalent the world over as chaos cooled and the humans shuddered and adjusted to the new-old order. Not only the humans.  

    Crowley fiddled with the stem of his wine glass, probably imperceptibly he thought.

    “Anyway,” he started, though the two of them had been sitting in comfortable silence for a considerable hour or so. “I’ve been thinking. What with all this ‘no sides but ours’ business. Grand idea, by the by, top genius move, no lords, gods, homecomings.”

    “Your idea, wasn’t it?” Aziraphale didn’t look up from his annotations.

    “Believe it was. Grand, cracking idea.”

    “So it was.”

    “Yes, it was. Superb. Splendid. Yes.”

    Aziraphale waited. Patience was a virtue, after all.

    Crowley shifted about on his chair, long legs undulating like they might disappear, absorbed into his true form so he could slither away.

    “So anyway. I’ve given it a lot of thought and I reckon the two of us ought to fuck now.”

    Aziraphale could _hear_ him holding the breath he didn’t need to take. Unconscious habit he had picked up also, too much bother to turn it off away from the humans.

    He finished his sentence and read carefully over the paragraph before answering.

    “Right this moment? You should have told me earlier, I would have cleared a space on the floor.”

    “I’m serious!” Crowley was a demon, he didn’t blush by design and certainly didn’t have the shame to learn how. But he could rise to his feet and pace in distressed agitation and did so now. “Think about it! Thousands of years, Aziraphale, in conflict and collaboration, scheming and dreaming of a better world, and we finally have it, no more looking over the old shoulder for the hammer to fall. You can’t possibly say that in thousands of years together, you’ve never once thought of it?”

    Here, Aziraphale did cap his pen and set it away. He folded his hands across his lap, choosing every action with such care that Crowley began to twitch slightly.

    “You have.”

    “I…” Crowley ran a hand through his hair so that the red strands flew up like feathers. “I am a _demon!_ Lust and temptation and all that. Old habits. Old, ancient, bloody habits.”

    “You’ve thought of it for a long time.”

    “Must you be so bloody calm? I’ve asked if you want to shag, not if you’d fancy another bottle.”

    Aziraphale made an exasperated noise.

    “You have not asked me, you said we _ought_ to, like an obligation. I thought we were through now with obligations.”

    “Not an obligation,” Crowley muttered. “It’s just… it’s like this. There’s no more destiny, is there? The great plan? All vanished in the wind. As far as we’re concerned, we’re like two incomplete halves of two horrible universes. Like…like those cassette tapes that you had to wind round with a pencil. Not used for the intended purpose, but better, together.”

    “If this is your seduction technique, I believe I’m required as your friend to let you know it’s the worst one I’ve encountered, and that’s counting the entirety of the seventies.”

    Aziraphale set his features into place firmly. He couldn’t dream of ruining this moment with a smile.

    “You! I! Just!” Crowley was fuming now, getting himself nicely worked up. “Fine! I’d like very much to fuck you, angel, and have for quite some time, would you be interested in fucking me, holding in mind, of course, that your answer has no bearing on the future of our friendship, as it now appears we’ll both be around for maybe forever, and our mutual trust and respect is clearly worth more to me than an afternoon of shagging, though, naturally, if you respond in the affirmative, I rescind this digression entirely in order that we may have more time for the shagging, time being in its usual relative state, though maybe we might slow it down for a while depending on outcome, depending again on you responding in the affirmative, again, alright if you don’t, because, friendship.”

    “Oh, my,” Aziraphale said, and this time he couldn’t quite hide the smile. “I didn’t expect you to be quite so direct.”

    Crowley went limp, all the fight gone out of him.

    “You expected.”

    “Sooner or later, of course.”

    “No!

     “Naturally. Demon. Lust. Temptation. That and the way you sometimes look at me like I’m a fresh-from-the-oven cream cake.”

    Crowley sank down into his chair.

    “You’ve noticed that, then.”

    “Only over the last few centuries, I’m afraid.”

    “Right.”

    “Coming from you, it’s quite…flattering.”

    “Oh no.” Crowley let his head loll backwards until it threatened to drop off his neck. “Don’t say that, don’t say it’s “flattering,” that’s what people say before “but…” and I believe I’ve been through quite enough just now, too much to deserve a “but…” too.”

    “That is not what I was going to say. What I was _going_ to say is, that sort of attention from you is quite flattering, and to be frank, not unwelcome.”

    Crowley snapped his head back so fast it threatened to come off the other way.

     “Eh? That being in the affirmative then?”

     “You _are_ bold, my dear. I said I was going to say that, but now I don’t think I will. As a matter of principle, you know.” Aziraphale turned away coyly on his own chair.

      “And what principle is that?” Crowley slid away his sunglasses to reveal his narrowed golden eyes. He’d inched his chair a bit closer. Not at all imperceptibly.

     “Well, that’d be your specialty, wouldn’t it? You can’t really expect me, the angel, to just throw myself at your feet. I’ve got to be _corrupted_.”

     Crowley appeared to be giving this some serious thought. After a few moments he nodded, businesslike, as if they’d reached a trade deal.

     “Alright, then. S’long as you agree to let yourself be corrupted, I’ll agree to do the corrupting.”

     He struck out his hand and Aziraphale took it, sealing the bargain. Aziraphale glanced around the shop, briefly considering where they might actually, ah, fraternize. There certainly wasn’t a clear space on the floor of the back room. Nor – heaven help him – out in the main shop, where a quick tap double-checked the lock at the door. He did in fact possess a bedroom upstairs and the prerequisite bed, though both were so filled with dust and books and boxes he had to stifle a grimace as he began thinking about how to vanish or rearrange everything, right until he felt the sting of teeth dig into his wrist. And then he stopped thinking at all.

     Crowley still held their hands tightly together and had them lifted to his mouth, where he nipped at the underside of Aziraphale’s wrist, just under his jacket cuff. The pain, of course, was inconsequential, but the novelty of having Crowley touch him, with so much intent, was fascinating.

     Crowley rotated his arm and got his fingers at the button, and oh, that was undressing. Very gently, he pushed Aziraphale’s sleeves up the few centimeters they would go and resumed biting and kissing in alternation, moistening the skin ever so slightly. His thumb and palm were warm, holding Aziraphale’s forearm in place and the warmth was nice.

     “Yes?” Crowley asked.

     “Not much to go on,” Aziraphale answered, a little light-headed just the same.

     “How about this then,” and Crowley leaned in for a kiss.

     It wasn’t their first. There had been a time, multiple periods of time really, when male friends kissing in greeting or goodbye had been the standard, and they’d dutifully done their bit to blend into society. Aziraphale hadn’t thought too much of it, but he realized suddenly, that Crowley probably had. He knew because he was thinking an awful lot of it right now, how it felt to have Crowley’s lips flush to his, warm and wet and moving as if he might actually swallow him whole. There was no semblance of restraint, no pretense of only friendship. Crowley kissed like a demon, which was to say, he kissed greedily, taking and taking as if he’d never be satisfied.

     It was _very_ nice.

     Crowley’s hands were working too, holding onto the curves of Aziraphale’s face and hip, keeping him in place as he teased his mouth open and slipped in his tongue. His _tongue._  Long and forked and rolling so deliciously along Aziraphale’s, urging escalation and play. Aziraphale was quite surprised to find he had no trouble playing along at all. And as for escalation…

     Tentatively, he reached for Crowley. Just a shoulder, then both, then pulling, a bit. He was hardly aware they were still sitting until they weren’t, because Crowley had him flat on his back across the desk.

     “Books,” he managed feebly, trying to reconcile the strangeness of another body on top of his own. Raw, sinewy power pressed down at him from all angles, power he could match, maybe even defeat…another time, perhaps.

     “Safe, somewhere, can’t remember quite; maybe Australia, maybe the next room over. D’you _really_ want to worry about books at a time like this?”

    Denied his mouth, Crowley began ravishing Aziraphale’s throat. This time he didn’t wait to undo buttons. He had Aziraphale’s collar open in seconds and pulled away the bow-tie with an air of relief that might not have had anything to do with lust.

     “Please don’t wreck my things.”

     “Never.” Crowley pulled away briefly and showed him the green tartan, unscathed and intact. He flung it away somewhere, grinning with those very sharp teeth. “I’d much rather wreck _you.”_

     A silly, cheap thing to say, in Aziraphale’s opinion, but then his jacket, his waistcoat, his shirt, were all being pried open as if Crowley were unearthing him from something, not physical, but something else. And goodness, it’d been ages since he’d had so much skin on display, and never before with this feeling of vulnerability. Crowley pinned him to the desk and positively devoured him, swiping his tongue, his teeth, up and down, now humming slightly in satisfaction.

     And Aziraphale _felt it_. This no longer qualified as anything much like nice.

     “I think,” he began, and had to stop to collect himself. He had _nipples,_ he remembered suddenly, because Crowley didn’t seem likely to forget them anytime soon. “I think I’m aroused now. That’s what this is, isn’t it? When you feel ready to shoot out of your skin?”

     Crowley looked up, making the perfectly lewd picture of his tongue flicking on either side of Aziraphale’s nipple seem almost innocent.

     “Usually. Better check though.”

     With another wicked smile, he reached down to the fork of Aziraphale’s trousers.

     It had taken a good bit of time and a great deal of stripping away at his own stubbornness before Aziraphale had even considered filling his trousers with anything. Crowley, of course, had been an early adopter – “It _grows!_ Awful clever of the Almighty to invent something that good” – but he had a harder time outweighing the aesthetic benefits against the inconvenience. The pleasure aspect being a moot point.

     But oh, not on top of the desk, where he thanked his lucky stars he’d given in to complete human anatomy. Crowley was not gentle now, stroking him through the thick fabric, and he was disappointingly brief, pulling away just as Aziraphale began to feel the promised pleasure.

     “Yup. Ready to go.”

     Aziraphale assumed this was a metaphorical ‘go,’ naturally, but then the world warped and spun and they were lying in the very same way on top of a magnificent large bed.

     He looked around wildly, comfortable now on a black silk comforter. This room was quiet and dimly lit, with no clutter or decoration at all.

     “Crowley, is this your flat?”

     Crowley nodded once, eyes shifting away as if this were something to be ashamed of.

     “Seemed a bit…anticlimactic to have a first time on a desk in a shop. Didn’t believe you even had a bed.”

     “I do, but I vastly prefer this.”

     Knowing this was the place where Crowley laid down to sleep, alone and untouchable to the world, give Aziraphale a shiver that was more emotional than physical. It was so terribly, _terribly_ intimate to even think of sharing such a space, yet here he was, mentally preparing to be naked and touching one another and the thought was so big he seized Crowley by the neck and started up the kissing again.

    If Crowley had any objections to the change in command, he certainly wasn’t making them known. They let the heat between them build once more, and that was so like all other things they did together, drinking or talking and laughing or walking in the park: effortless. Like they’d known how all along.

     Heavens, maybe they had.

     Crowley reared back suddenly, wriggling atop Aziraphale’s hips as he freed himself from his own jacket and shirt, all long and lean lines on display. Aziraphale didn’t ask to touch, he simply did, feeling the lithe muscle and hot skin with his fingertips. Worship was the easiest thing in the world for an angel.

     “Could miracle all this away,” he noted. “Skip undressing.”

     “Nah, human way is much better.”

     To demonstrate, Crowley went after Aziraphale’s trousers, but not with any haste. He took his time, popping the button, easing down the zip as if it were the most delicious meal to be savored. Aziraphale started to grow uncomfortable, though he understood that was the point of the thing, this sort of discomfort. He felt… unstable. Like a wrong touch might break him to pieces.

     It was difficult to imagine Crowley doing anything wrong. He caressed Aziraphale through the opened trousers, cupping his long, clever hand along the thin material of his shorts. They were quickly damp.

     Crowley grinned.

    “You’re learning quickly.”

     “That is right, isn’t it?” Aziraphale asked, a bit anxiously. “It isn’t too soon?”

     “It’s perfect.” Crowley pressed a kiss just under his navel – another required concession to society, it _terrified_ humans to be without one – before digging into the waistband of both pants and trousers and tearing them clean away.

     Aziraphale fell back, bare as, well, not the day he was created (heaven having some definite guidelines about nudity) but bare as he’d ever been, in every way. He didn’t feel a twinge of unease, not when Crowley’s eyes raked up his body with the dangerous burn of hellfire.

     “Oh, I am _going_ to have you, angel. You know not what you’ve awoken in me.”

     Crowley made to pounce again, but Aziraphale stopped him with a hand to the chest.

     “Hang on just a minute. You can’t _tease_ me like that and not allow me to return the favor. It isn’t fair at all.”

     Crowley’s hot eyes went wide. His mouth fell open.

     “What?”

     It was easy for Aziraphale to knock Crowley to the bed, reversing their positions, so easy in fact, he wondered with some amusement if it had ever been a fair fight between their sides at all. Or perhaps it was Crowley who had simply gotten _soft_ with age.

     Aziraphale hovered at the edge of the bed, hands skimming over Crowley’s hips, bound up in those ridiculously tight trousers. He quite liked the portrait that made, his own soft hands framing Crowley’s arousal, holding him put so he could admire.

     Crowley didn’t resist but he did pout.

    “Very fast learner, eh? Don’t suppose you’d like to get a move on anytime soon?”

     “Why do you wear these?” Aziraphale ran just one finger along the thick black waistband of the trousers. They didn’t seem comfortable.

     Crowley writhed under Aziraphale’s touch, seeking more contact that did not come. He growled deep in his throat.

      “They look nice! All the better to do the tempting!”

     “Ah, I see.” Aziraphale smiled. He gripped Crowley in one hand, perhaps a bit harder than necessary, but Crowley _moaned_ in response. “You wear them to make people look at you. You like that, always have, even outside of tempting. You like their admiration, their eyes following as you enter a room.”

     Crowley did not protest. His own eyes met Aziraphale’s, shining with something beautiful and new.

     Aziraphale leaned down so that his lips brushed Crowley’s ear.

     “I always felt that was a shortcoming of the human race. That they can be so easily swayed by such simple things like clothing. Pity. They can’t see you like I do. I see you perfectly, my dear, no matter what you happen to be wearing.”

     “Or not wearing,” Crowley offered hopefully.

     “That’s right.”

     Aziraphale did not proceed the human way. He simply vanished the rest of Crowley’s clothing, having a sneaking suspicion that Crowley used a minor miracle to get in and out of those trousers anyway.

     There was no basis for comparison now. There was nothing in Aziraphale’s centuries’ long history to match up against how it felt to have all their physical selves thrust up against one another. No book description, no film, not even Crowley’s own boasting (in the days when sex was still novel enough to boast of) could have prepared him for this moment. He gasped, holding onto Crowley as if afraid he might disappear without warning.

     Crowley grinned, slightly feral, and took over again. Which suited Aziraphale fine, as he might have stayed frozen with shock and awe for another few months at least.

     Crowley wrapped a hand around them both – which alone was so good, Aziraphale ground down with a shudder – and began to stroke with a gentle, deliberate motion. Enough to warm up Aziraphale to the idea, and he did, more quickly than he would have believed.

     “Let me try,” he murmured.

     Crowley fell off obediently and Aziraphale copied his movements, adjusting to the angle and the feel of Crowley kneading at his hips instead.

     “Add a twist at the end, love.”

     It took a few tries, but Aziraphale figured out the turn of wrist needed to bring them both to great gasping sighs. There was quite a lot more dampness now.

     “Crowley. _Crowley_.” The demon had gotten very interested in doing some, ah, thrusting, which was horribly distracting. “I’m not sure, of course, but I think this might end quickly at this rate.”

     Crowley stopped moving.

     “It can, if you want it to. _Do_ you want to finish?”

     Aziraphale shook his head. He stopped stroking, though all his grace shook and protested otherwise.

     “Right then.” Crowley licked his lips, hesitating. “There’s, that is, there are other things we can–”

     “You said you wanted to fuck me.”

     “Well, look who’s bold now!” Crowley pulled himself upright so that Aziraphale sat in his lap. “I meant eventually, it didn’t have to be today, first time you’ve eve–”

     “I want it.”

     Crowley looked up in astonishment.

     “You sure? This isn’t you letting me feel like my tempting’s still up to snuff, just going along to get along, like that miserable holiday you let me book to Nebraska where we spent a whole week staring at cattle and grass?”

     “Definitely not like that.”

     Crowley still hadn’t moved, causing Aziraphale to wonder if perhaps _he_ was meant to initiate again.

     “How do you want me? Hands and knees? On my back?” He made to hop off Crowley, who gave a great eye-roll that could only be accomplished by someone with serpentine features, and held fast to his hips.

     “Don’t _leave,_ you prat, it’s perfect as is. I’ll show you.”

     One of Crowley’s hands left his hip and sort of vaguely sauntered downward. Despite knowing what was coming, Aziraphale still managed to be surprised at the feel of him there, at the curve of his back, the lower roundness, and the cleft within. One finger pressed, wet, through the will of one or both of them. It certainly wasn’t bad, just… odd. A little silly, almost.

     Crowley pressed harder, and before he knew it, Aziraphale’s chin had dropped down into his chest. It wasn’t silly. Oh, it wasn’t silly at _all_.

     “Yeah?” Crowley asked. There wasn’t an ounce of bastard to him then.

     Aziraphale nodded weakly.

     “You can do more. More of, all of it.”

     He planted his hands on Crowley’s chest, eyes shut tight, determined to feel all there was to feel in this strange, wonderful experience. Crowley graduated from one to two fingers and the pleasure all but doubled, making Aziraphale hope that this was the way it went, increasing levels. His mouth came open. He could feel each individual blood vessel in his face and neck and _other_ places inflame with more blood. He was shaking a fair amount.

     His voice shook too.

     “My dear, I-I believe you’d better include yourself into the equation if you’d like t-to do this pr-pro-properly.”

     “My pleasure,” Crowley promised, his own voice thick and low. There was a bit of fiddling as he lifted Aziraphale, then guided him back down, slowly, until they were hip to hip again. This time Crowley was also shaking.

     “Still good?” he mumbled, seeming barely coherent enough to listen for an answer. His eyes had closed as Aziraphale’s opened, both hands clutching desperately at black silk.

     Aziraphale understood his raw desperation completely.

     “Stop asking that, demon, and fuck me.”

     Crowley moaned as if he were the one receiving the deep, teeth-gnashing thrusts he was delivering. His strength and accuracy were incredible; instantly Aziraphale was envious of all the humans who couldn’t possibly have held up to the depth of his full power. Which he was positive he was the proud recipient of now.

     Aziraphale rode up and down the waves of motion, not bothering to stifle his little gasps and sighs. Almost maniacally, he started to long for _next_ time, and the time after that, and after that, when they might have worn off the newness enough to do this for hours on end, _days_ even, as there could be no doubting there would be an awful lot of next times.

    For now, he looked down at Crowley, who was covered in sweat and baring his fangs, still with the death-grip on the comforter, and felt a bottomless new pocket of love emerge for his friend, for deciding they couldn’t have waited a moment longer to go without this.

     Aziraphale reached under himself for Crowley’s legs and lifted them both behind the knees. This gave him the leverage to thrust back and removed enough of Crowley’s to disrupt his rhythm.

    Crowley forced his eyes open, the black slits crowding out the yellow.

    “My turn,” Aziraphale said sweetly.

    Using his new grip, he could work Crowley even deeper, rocking against the thick, hot length inside him. His pace was less controlled, much more sloppy and frantic, but Crowley didn’t seem to mind, judging by the way he threw back his head and _howled_ in pleasure. Aziraphale felt him twitching, saw the muscles in his arms and neck stand out, building up with tension, and picked up his speed, throat dry in his eagerness to make Crowley feel good.

    He lifted almost all the way up off, then down again with a satisfying _smack!_ drawing a complete symphony of garbled words and hisses from Crowley, once, twice, thrice more before Crowley jolted, hips stuttering, and vibrating every atom of the room with his scream of ecstasy.    

    Aziraphale sat back, enjoying the picture Crowley made post-orgasm, all softened in the harsh lines and flushed chest heaving. He’d forgotten about his own pleasure, until Crowley gave a vicious (if somewhat exhausted) smirk, and thrust up just one more time.

    That smirk and that last push shoved him over the edge, his release rolling out from some new, secret core that Crowley had built inside him, blinding and biting at his senses, wiping out everything else for one glorious moment. He bucked and tensed and heard himself give one final cry before he fell, boneless, to the bed.

    They laid side by side, soaked with many fluids and panting for breath neither could remember now they didn’t need to take.

    “Suppose you were right, then,” Aziraphale croaked. “We ought to have done sooner.”

    “Suppose I was.” Crowley turned to look at him. “I’d, um. I’d hate for you to think I’m only after your company now for your ass, but at the risk of sounding too _bold,_ would you–”

    “Like to go again?” Aziraphale smiled, once more overcome with affection. “Give me a moment. I think we might be able to get in a few rounds before dinner.”

    “My thoughts exactly. Knew you’d be a natural, you hedonistic, holy bastard.”

    Crowley pulled him in for a kiss, softer now, speaking something that couldn’t be put into words.

    “Thank you for the idea, you lovely, lawless creature.”

    And Aziraphale immediately threw Crowley back against the mattress. So went the new order of the new world.


End file.
